Trump Ace
by actressen
Summary: The year is 2109, and 15 year old Antonia Cunningham is obsessed with paper books. She never could have guessed, however, that her obscure hobby would lead her on a journey to discover the identity of one of the greatest evils ever known, with only the help of two crabby classmates and a mysterious informant who goes by the alias "Ace".
1. Chapter One: Of Books and Nightmares

**AN: I also posted this story on Wattpad, under the same username (actressen), so no, I am not plagiarizing myself. With that cleared up, enjoy!**

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter One: Of Books and Nightmares_

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><p><em>"I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center."<em>

-Kurt Vonnegut

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><p>"<em>Please, leave me alone," she cried, horrified by his face and yet unable to look away. <em>

"_Now, now, princess," he crooned, sticking the blade in her mouth, "you really aught to smile more."_

With a sharp intake of breath, Antonia Cunningham awoke from her nightmare. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, and her heart raced as if she had just finished a marathon. _I really have to stop reading Stephen King before bed_, she thought, glancing at the novel on her bedside table. A book did sound good, though, and she knew she wasn't getting any sleep anytime soon. She glanced over to her bookcase, a frown quickly forming on her face. _Something tells me that Poe or Collins aren't much better_. Sighing, she picked up her worn out copy of _The Long Walk_, figuring that if she wasn't going to be able to sleep, then she didn't need to worry about giving herself nightmares. She stroked her fingers down the tattered spine, feeling the numerous creases. She loved that about real books. E-readers just couldn't achieve that well-loved look, no matter how hard they tried. But no matter how many times she tried to explain this to her mother, or numerous others for that matter, they never understood.

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><p>Antonia had first laid eyes on a real paper book in the third grade, when Louisa Parker brought in a copy of a book written by her great-grandmother in the time before e-Readers. The book was passed around the classroom, and when it fell into Antonia's hands, she knew she was in love. The smell of the paper, the feel of the pages, the refreshing non-electronic-ness of it—she fell in love with everything about it. As the rest of the class obsessed over Johnny Collins's bunny rabbit, her mind was consumed with books. Why had she never seen one of these marvelous objects before?<p>

Noticing that Louisa was too busy cooing over the rabbit to answer any questions about books, Antonia went over to Mrs. Stevens, who was reading something on an e-Reader. She figured that Mrs. Stevens was a teacher, which meant she knew stuff, and, anyway, she was old, which meant she was probably around when books were popular.

"Erm… Mrs. Stevens?"

Mrs. Stevens looked up, expectantly.

"Why do they not make books anymore?"

Mrs. Stevens furrowed her brow, looking thoroughly confused. "What on Earth do you mean, child? Of course they still make books!" She replied incredulously, gesturing to the e-Reader in her lap.

"No, no, Mrs. Stevens," Antonia paused, carefully considering her phrasing, "I mean _real _books, like Louisa's."

Comprehension dawned on Mrs. Stevens.

"Oh, you mean _paper _books!"

Antonia nodded enthusiastically.

"Well… to be honest, dear, I'm not terribly sure. I guess that e-Readers came along and people liked them better, so eventually they just stopped making them."

Antonia couldn't help but be a little disappointed. She had hoped Mrs. Stevens would tell her that they still made paper books, because she wanted her very own one terribly.

"So is Louisa's the only one left in the world?" she asked, suddenly feeling envious of Louisa.

Mrs. Stevens chuckled. "Of course not! They're not terribly common, but you can still find them!"

Antonia's eyes lit up.

"Really?"

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><p>Now, seven years later, Antonia had managed to work up quite a collection of books, 279 to be exact. Ever since her obsession started, friends and relatives, and friends of relatives, and relatives of friends, and everyone, really, started giving her whatever paper books they had collecting dust in boxes in their attics, namely hand-me-downs from older relatives. Not that she complained. Boxes of books were her favorites, because she never knew what she was going to find. Yes, many times all she found was dusty books, but sometimes she stumbled upon more interesting things. She had found twenty one journals, nine sketchbooks, four photo albums, and an autograph book, all of which she kept safely tucked away in a box under her bed. She also once found eighty two dollars hidden in a copy of the bible, and, on a less pleasant note, a rat carcass. But she didn't really like to talk about that.<p>

Overall, Antonia loved the fact that all her books had once belonged to someone else. Occasionally she wondered what it would be like to own a fresh, new copy of a book, with a creaseless spine and pristine pages, but it was an idle fascination. The fact that someone else had read those pages meant, at least to her, that the book held not one story, but multiple: the story written by the author, of course, but also the stories of all the previous owners. These stories weren't carefully and meticulously written down in black ink, or even there in their entirety, but they were _there_. Sometimes they were no more than numerous creases in the spine, or dog-eared pages, but those were enough to remind Antonia that these people existed, and that they had their own stories. It saddened her to think about it, all those stories that were never told. All those stories that no one would ever know. She tried not to think about it, for that very reason, but failed miserably. It was just too fascinating to not think about.

While she adored them all, there was one book, for a reason she could not quite put her finger on, that caught her interest. It wasn't due to the story, which was actually just about as unremarkable as it could be: a collection of the brothers Grimm's fairytales. It was due to the rather nonsensical sporadic annotations and sketches in the margins, as well as two clumps of missing pages. Also, most interestingly of all, she found several scraps inserted in the pages, including a scrap of yellowing lined paper which consisted of a tally count of eighty three tucked in between pages 162 and 163, two ticket stubs from the film _Affliction_, and a receipt from Goodwill. Unsure of what to do with them, but unwilling to throw them out, Antonia kept them in a manila envelope labeled "L. P.", the initials she had found written in the inside cover of the book in question.

Something about the book made her nervous. She did not know what it was, or why it did, but she kept the book stashed safely away in the back of her closet, and never really spoke about it with anyone. She had tried before, only to find that the words seemed caught in her throat, as if she was physically incapable of speaking of it. While she found it curious, and somewhat concerning, she had never thought too much of it. There were always more pressing things on her mind. But now, awake in bed after yet another nightmare, she couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious book of fairytales sitting behind her closed closet doors, which filled her with a strange intoxicating uneasiness that she was unable to part with.


	2. Chapter Two: Of Jokers and Douchebags

******AN: Here's chapter two. Enjoy!**

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Two: Of Jokers and Douchebags_

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><p><em>"My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible. I think we should all be as uneasy as possible, because that's what the world is like."<em>

-Edward Gorey

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><p>"With your final papers on the twentieth century turned in, I would like turn our attention to the first one hundred years of our current millennium. But, of course, a century is a very long time, so let's just look at the first decade. What can anyone tell me about the years 2000 to 2010?"<p>

Antonia felt cold and brittle, like a leaf in November. As much as she adored Dr. Skinner, the hard, grey plastic surface of her desk looked just like a swan's down pillow to her sleep-starved mind.

The class remained silent.

"Come on! Anybody?"

Antonia noticed her desk seemed to be in much closer proximity to her face than it had five minutes ago. This discovery boggled her exhausted brain to no end and she half-conciously decided some sort of witchcraft must have been involved.

Distantly, she heard the sound of chalk on chalkboard, and summoned up the majority of her remaining willpower to glance up, only to see Dr. Skinner drawing a basketball-sized circle on the board. _Oh, not this_. Putting down the chalk and pausing dramatically, her professor let out a disappointed sigh before beginning to bang his head repeatedly against the chalkboard within the circle he had drawn, something that he did only when someone said or did something spectacularly stupid, or when everyone failed to say anything at all.

Dr. Skinner was an odd individual in many ways, and that was precisely why he was her favorite teacher. Clearly born in the wrong time period, he had an aversion to technology and was the only teacher she knew of who didn't have a completely digitized teaching approach. The chalkboard he used was easily older than the oldest living man, an understandable fact considering chalkboards were not made anymore. They didn't make chalk anymore, either, so Dr. Skinner had to make his own. But that was just the way he did things.

Just about everyone loved Dr. Skinner. From his odd mannerisms to his love of irony, it was almost impossible to not love him. He looked uncannily like St. Peter, shown plainly in the poster he had of St. Peter which might as well have been a portrait of him, with his pure-white hair and rugged beard that suited his lifestyle of motorcycling in Midwestern winters and canoeing across Canada. He was without a doubt one of the most fascinating men Antonia had ever met. And the fact that she had a 94 percent in his class didn't hurt.

Her classmates glanced to each other nervously, knowing that the head banging would continue until someone said something. Nervously, Hanna Andrews raised her hand and said, "the 9/11 attacks?".

The head banging ceased at once and Skinner turned on his heal, his almost constant expression of excitement quickly returning."Okay! What _about _the 9/11 attacks?"

Silence descended upon the classroom once again. Dr. Skinner's eye searched the room, finally landing on Greg O'Bannon, a boy Antonia mentally referred to as Douchebag 1 (Anthony Marquez, who sat to his left, had the title of Douchebag 2), who somehow managed to fall asleep in Dr. Skinner's class on a daily basis, something that amazed and irritated her to no end. She was just waiting for the teacher to lose patience with him. Alas, that had not yet come to pass. But there were still two months left in the school year, so she refused to give up hope.

By now, many of her other classmates had followed Dr. Skinner's line of vision and could easily predict the coming events, and hushed snickers could be heard throughout the classroom. Douchebag 1, with his signature hoodie pulled down over his eyes, was slumped forward in his seat, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open with all the grace of a three-legged elephant on roller-skates.

Much like a lion stalking a gazelle, Dr. Skinner quietly approached him with an evil glint in his eye, picking up Anthony's tennis racket, which was laying next to his backpack. Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but a warning glance from Dr. Skinner made him think better of it, and he slumped back in his chair, defeated. Dr. Skinner raised a finger to his lips as if to say "_Shuddup!_", something he told Antonia to do quite frequently. She didn't think anything of it, though, because with him it was practically a term of endearment. After taking dramatic pause and lining up his shot, Dr. Skinner loudly slammed the racket on Douchebag 1's desk, startling him from his slumber.

"Awake, Mr. O'Bannon, and join the troops! Awake, I say!"

Antonia giggled. American History with Dr. Skinner was practically a comedy show. It really was. She basically just sat there and giggled, and actually learnt quite a lot. Douchebag 1 glared sleepily at Dr. Skinner, but Antonia felt much more awake. There was nothing quite like a good laugh at the expense of an enemy to get you out of that mid-afternoon stupor.

"Alright, Mr. O'Bannon! Now that you're back with the troops, tell us something about the September 11th terrorist attacks!" Dr. Skinner exclaimed, enthusiastically pacing the front of the classroom with exaggerated steps.

Douchebag 1 shared an incredulous look with Douchebag 2, as if to say "_Is he serious?_" before replying to Dr. Skinner in the most deadpan tone possible: "A lot of people died."

Dr. Skinner paused, as if deciding whether or not to pursue Douchebag 1 further. Deciding not to do so, he accepted Greg's lackluster answer.

"Okay! And what _kind _of people were they?"

Timothy Jacobs, a rather short and timid boy with sandy-blonde hair and brown eyes whose most remarkable quality was being entirely unremarkable, raised his hand nervously.

"Yes, Mr. Jacobs!"

"Civilians?"

"Exactly! Now why is this important?"

Antonia raised her hand.

"Miss Cunningham!"

"Nothing quite like it had ever happened before, at least, not on such a scale. The fact that such a thing could happen to unsuspecting civilians made people feel unsafe."

"Yes! Exactly! But saying they felt _unsafe_ is like saying that the Hundred Years' war was not short. Can anyone think of a better term?"

Dr. Skinner waited several seconds for any suggestions. He received none.

"Panic!" he boomed, banging his fist on a desk and causing half the class to jump, including Antonia. "And people used this fear as a weapon, particularly-" Dr. Skinner stopped, contemplating what to do, and seemingly decided to take a new route. "Actually, nevermind that. Get out your e-Readers and look at the man pictured on page 394 of your textbooks. I want you to tell me about him."

After glancing around the room to ensure everyone was following his instructions, he resumed pacing back and forth the width of the classroom. Waiting for her e-Reader to load the page, Antonia heard several gasps around the classroom, piquing her curiosity. Seeing that the page had loaded, Antonia scrolled down the page to find the image in question. When she finally got a good look at the man pictured, she gasped much like many of her classmates, but for an entirely different reason: this was the man from her nightmares.

Her heart sped up within her chest and the classroom seemed to spin. Everything was suddenly very surreal. _He's real? _She asked herself, _or am I dreaming? _She looked around the room suspiciously, looking for any evidence that she was in her own mind and not in her actually classroom. Feeling very cliché, she pinched the skin on her forearm and winced. _Definitely not a dream_… she thought. After glancing back at the photograph, however, she ceased to be so certain. _I think…_

Unaware of her mental turmoil, Dr. Skinner continued the lesson.

"Does anyone know who this is?"

Kyle Chau, the resident crime expert, raised his hand with Skinner-like enthusiasm.

"Yes!" Dr. Skinner called, excited to see such speedy hand-raising.

"It's the Joker, one of the most infamous serial killers of the 21st century. He terrorized Gotham city for almost fifteen years before he disappeared. No one knows what happened to him. No one knows who he was, either, or where he came from."

"Good! Now, what's the connection between the Joker to the 9/11 attacks?" Dr. Skinner asked, looking around the room hopefully.

Silence once again reigned supreme.

Dr. Skinner opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the bell. Glaring at aforementioned object, he told them all to have an answer to his question prepared by next class as they scurried from the classroom as if the hounds of hell were in close pursuit. It had nothing to do with Dr. Skinner, but rather the fact that it was the last class of the day.

Which also probably meant that most of the students didn't hear him, Antonia included. But while the other students' heads were filled with thoughts of get-togethers and extracurriculars, Antonia's mind was filled with the nightmarish face of the clown from hell known as the Joker, who was unfortunately more real than she ever thought him to be.


	3. Chapter Three: Of Planning and Hallways

**AN: All feedback is greatly appreciated. Now on to chapter three!**

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Three: Of Planning and Hallways_

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><p><em>"Goodness me, the clock has struck- alackday, and fuck my luck"<em>

_ -_Kurt Vonnegut, _Slaughterhouse-Five_

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><p>It wasn't until around seven thirty in the evening that Dr. Skinner's lesson finally caught up with her. She had been working on homework absentmindedly when a certain phrase from the news program her mother was watching in the kitchen caught her attention. It was an interview of some sort, and the reporter asked "Do you think this will cause any panic amongst the public?".<p>

Antonia didn't know who was being interviewed, or who was doing the interview, or anything about it, nor, in honest truth, did she care. But it got the gears in her head turning, and all of a sudden connections started forming in her head:

"_What's the connection between the Joker and the 9/11 attacks?_"

_"Panic!"_

_ "…used fear as a weapon…"_

Suddenly inspired, Antonia ran up to her room and grabbed an empty notebook from her desk drawer (paper notebooks were another antique obsession of hers, as were ballpoint pens). Her gut was telling her that it was of the utmost importance that she chronicle her knowledge of this man (if he could even be called a man), and she was not the type to doubt her gut instinct. Grabbing a pen, she opened the notebook to the first page and wrote at the top _The Joker_. She then listed all she knew:

-_Serial killer in the 21st century_

_ -Used fear as a weapon_

_ -Wore face paint (like a clown, except demonic)_

_ -Real identity: unknown_

_ -Terrorized Gotham city_

_ -Active for approx. 15 years before he disappeared._

_ -Fate: unknown_

_ -Somehow ended up in my nightmares_

Feeling somewhat calmer but feeling overwhelmed with all the unanswered questions, she decided to list them as well, if only for her peace of mind:

-_What did he do that made him so infamous?_

_ -What were his motives?_

_ -Why did he chose the alias "The Joker"?_

_ -Who was he? Where did he come from?_

Antonia paused and considered erasing the last question, considering no one knew, but then thought better of it. _If I'm going to list my questions, I might as well list all of them_, she thought_, regardless of whether or not I can find the answer_. Her mind made up, she continued her list:

_ -What happened to him?_

_ -How did he manage to avoid being caught?_

_ -If he's so infamous, why hadn't I heard of him before?_

_ -How many people did he kill? Why did he kill them?_

_ -Why is he in my subconscious? How did he get there?_

Unable to think of any new questions, Antonia reviewed what she had written, realizing that the unknowns vastly outweighed the known information. She momentarily contemplated trying to forget about all of it and save herself from what she knew would end up being many hours of hard work and research, but quickly dismissed the thought. It had come to occupy far too much of her mind to possibly be forgotten, and she couldn't help but hope that once her questions were answered she would once again be able to get a peaceful night's sleep.

Newly determined, Antonia began a third and final list.

_ Plan of action:_

_ -Research_

She signed and put down her pen. What "research"? Where on earth would she begin? She once again felt as if she were about to embark on a search for a needle in a haystack, a prospect which seemed most loathsome. But then all of a sudden it came to her:

_"It's the Joker, one of the most infamous serial killers of the 21st century. He terrorized Gotham city for almost fifteen years before he… disappeared."  
><em>

That was it! Picking up her pen, Antonia made one last comment, double underlining it for emphasis:

-_Talk to Kevin Chau_

Pushing a runaway strand of her mousy brown hair behind her ear, Antonia found herself beginning to doubt her plan of attack. Until she caught sight of her target. _Poor bastard doesn't know what's coming at him_, a voice in her head, which sounded oddly like her friend Elizabeth, lamented. _Shut up_! she scolded herself, before realizing what a strange thing that was to do. _I'm really losing it, aren't I?_ she thought dismayed, quickly realizing that she didn't want to receive an answer to that question.

The sound of the bell jerked her back to reality, only for her to discover her target halfway down the hallway. _Drat!_ She considered running after him, but realized that would draw huge amounts of attention to herself and Kevin, so she settled on a brisk walk. She was only a few yards behind him when he turned to enter a classroom, requiring Antonia to take desperate measures.

"Kevin!" She stage-whispered in a desperate attempt to get his attention. To her relief, it worked, and he stopped in his tracks, turning to look for the caller, not even noticing she was there. _Boys_.

"Right here!" she said exasperatedly, waving her hand to get his attention. Kevin raised an eyebrow in suspicion, an understandable reaction considering Antonia doubted she had ever directly spoken to him directly.

"What is it, Annie?" He asked, sounding as genuine as the Prada bags vendors sell on New York city sidewalks.

"It's _Antonia_. But, listen. I _really _need to talk to you."

At this his other eyebrow rose up and joined its companion somewhere near his hairline, which was blocked from sight by his bangs.

"Umm… okay then. About what, exactly?"

The warning bell rang, and Antonia silently cursed the thing to hell.

"Shoot! I have to go, but just… meet me at lunch. In the courtyard. Okay?"

Silence. _I don't have time for this! _Antonia mumbled inwardly.

"Please, Kevin? Please?" she begged, her hands clasped together in front of her as if to prove she was earnest in her request.

Kevin nervously glanced around the hallway, seeing that Antonia's little display was starting to attract some wandering eyes.

"Okay!" He whispered through gritted teeth before leaning in closer and continuing, "But people are starting to _stare_ so could you… go?".

Antonia enthusiastically nodded and skipped away, too pleased with her success to be offended by the implications of Kevin's comment.

Her excitement was short-lived, however, as the final bell rang just as she entered the Science department. With a growl, she turned around and headed to the tardy station. _Goddamnit all. _


	4. Chapter Four: Of Rats and Scars

**Joker: "Reviewing... is like gravity. All it takes is a little _click_." **

**The Author: "Erm... what he said."**

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><p>Trump Ace<p>

_Chapter Four: Of Rats and Scars_

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><p><em>"Do you wanna know how I got these scars?"<br>_

-The Joker, _The Dark Knight_

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><p>By the time lunch came around Antonia's mood had soured considerably.<p>

The science wing was oddly detached from the rest of the building, meaning the walk of shame to the tardy station was particularly long, and therefore, particularly shameful. When she finally did get there, though, it seemed as if a good percentage of the school had decided to be late for class, meaning she had to wait behind a handful of rich kids who hated the world in order to get her card scanned so that she could take a second long walk of shame all the way back to the Biology classroom. Waiting in line she had the good fortune to be standing next to three anorexics complaining to each other about how fat they were, and as the seconds ticked by she could just see her respect for humanity taking a nosedive.

When she finally got to her class, she was a little over ten minutes late, and had quite forgotten that they were beginning their rat dissections today until she walked through the doorway. Luckily for her, her teacher was old-fashioned enough that they dissected real rats, which meant they were working in pairs.

Any person who would be even remotely desirable as a lab partner had already been claimed, so Antonia got the privilege of getting to work with one of the girls who refused to touch anything, including a netbook, leaving Antonia to dissect the rat with one hand and take notes with the other.

And while Antonia was a girl of many talents, multitasking was not one of them. So, when she was trying to locate the kidney with one hand and label a diagram with the other, she managed to dissect the ring finger of her left hand, a painful and embarrassing experience which ended with her being scolded by the school nurse for bleeding on the carpet while she tried not to think about the dead rat cells that had most definitely been introduced into her bloodstream.

By the time her finger was bandaged and the carpet was blood-free, she had missed her entire painting class but still had plenty of time to enjoy Algebra 2/Trig in its seventy-minute entirety.

So, when she finally sat down at a picnic table in the courtyard and opened her paper bag lunch to discover that her absent-minded mother had only packed an orange and a bottle of water (Antonia guessed her sister would find two sandwiches in her lunchbox later), she wasn't surprised in the least. Removing the orange peel with her undamaged hand, she decided that the only proper thing for the Good Lord to do at this moment was send down baseball-sized flaming hail. That would really be the cherry on top of a fantastic day.

It was during Antonia's mental rant on her day while she was half expecting the sky to open up and send down flaming chunks of ice that Kevin Chau, unfortunately, decided to sit down across from her. Noticing she was in a world of her own and silently worrying about what, exactly, he had gotten himself into, Kevin began to unpack his own bagged lunch, and it wasn't until he opened his can of soda that Antonia came out of her reverie, the distinctive cracking sound of the can opening bringing her to her senses.

"So why did you want me to meet you here?" He asked before taking a swig of his soda.

"Tell me what you know about the Joker," Antonia replied, not in the mood to bother with pleasantries.

If he was surprised by her request, he didn't show it. But then again, she was such an oddball that she was certain he had come to expect the unexpected as far as she was concerned.

"What is it that you want to know?"

Antonia paused momentarily before answering.

"Everything."

Kevin scratched behind his ear as he considered her response.

"That's… a lot."

Antonia had to bite back an exasperated sigh. _It's not his fault your day was crap_, she reminded herself, _besides, I need his help. _Antonia took a deep breath to collect herself.

"Start from the beginning, then," she told him, making a conscious effort to keep her irritation from showing up in her voice.

Kevin took a bite of his sandwich as he organized his thoughts, and Antonia followed his lead and popped one of the orange segments into her mouth, happy to discover that the orange was ripe. Her attention left the orange, however, when Kevin swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Well, the Joker first appeared in 2005. As you saw in that picture Skinner showed us yesterday, he always wore theatrical makeup and had a highly visible Glasgow grin."

Antonia's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wait, what's a Glasgow grin?"

"The scars on the sides of his face," Kevin explained, running his index finger from the corner of his mouth to the apple of his cheek to demonstrate. "They make the victim look like he's always smiling. It was an intimidation method used primarily by English street gangs that began in Glasgow, Scotland, thus the name."

Antonia nodded.

"How did he get the scars?" She asked, running an index finger, like Kevin did, from the corner of her mouth to the apple of her cheek, imagining what it would be like to receive such a wound with a disgusted shiver.

Kevin looked surprised by her question, but seemed to be holding back a smile at the same time.

"It's really strange that you would ask that."'

Antonia found herself confused once again.

"And why would that be?"

"The Joker loved to tell people how he got his scars; particularly right before he killed them. The thing was, though, that he never told the same story twice. So, really, it's just another question about him that no one knows the answer to."

Antonia nodded once again, but inwardly groaned. Was there anything known about this man?

"I think that's the reason why he's so intriguing, but people don't talk about him much, even now. There are still just so many unknowns. And not knowing… that makes people nervous."

He took another bite of his sandwich.

"Anyway, the biggest reason the Joker was known as the Joker was because his calling cards were the jokers from decks of playing cards. He was pretty constant like that. When he first showed up in 2005, he wore the theater makeup and purple suit and used the joker calling card, and he remained constant in all those things up until he disappeared in 2020. He also never left Gotham; but then again, he never had a reason to."

Antonia really wasn't enjoying the amount of time she was spending confused in this conversation.

Noticing her expression, Kevin stopped.

"You do know about the Batman, right?"

"Batman…?"

Kevin gave her an incredulous look as if to say, _What rock do you live under?_

"You really don't know anything about this, do you?"

"Apparently not."

Kevin pulled out his phone and checked the time, pressing his lips together in thought.

"Okay, look. We only have five minutes left, and there's no way I can explain even a fraction of the basics to you in that time. So just… meet me in Briar Park after school, alright? At the picnic tables near the tennis court," he told her, packing up his lunch.

Antonia opened her mouth to speak but Kevin quickly raised up a hand to silence her.

"And don't ask me why I'm helping you with… whatever this is. Because, in all honesty, I don't know."

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he quickly cut her off.

"I would suggest you go now, before I change my mind."

_ Jackass_, Antonia thought, turning away from him so she could roll her eyes in peace, wanting desperately to give him a glare cold enough to freeze over the Pacific, but knowing that would be a rather stupid thing to do. _You have questions. He has answers. Don't screw this up! _She reminded herself, _just nod like he's the kindest person to have ever walked the face of the earth by offering such a "favor" and then leave._

Her course of action decided, Antonia turned around to face him.

But Kevin was gone.


	5. Chapter Five: Of Sighs and Fingerprints

**AN: **

**Joker: "If you want new chapters in this story, you must click the button and leave reviews. Oh, and if you don't, puppies will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word." *laughs***

**Author *shrugging*: "You heard what he said."**

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Five: Of Sighs and Fingerprints_

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><p><em>"A hero cannot be a hero unless in a heroic world"<em>

_ -_Nathaniel Hawthorne

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><p>The second time Antonia met with Kevin, he was the one waiting for her. She was not a frequent visitor of Briar Park and had gotten lost on her way to their designating meeting location, and had to ask for directions twice. She had never realized Briar Park was quite so large, and it didn't help that the first people she asked were two teenage boys who decided it would be hilarious to point her in the opposite direction.<p>

When she finally did find the blasted tennis court, she saw Kevin sitting at a picnic table calmly reading something on his netbook. With a sigh, Antonia dropped her bag on the grass near the table and sat down across from him.

"So you decided to ride a turtle here?" He asked, not even bothering to look up from the screen.

Antonia scoffed before she could stop herself._ Remember you need his help_, she scolded herself,_ He doesn't have to do this, so don't give him any reason to decide not to. _

"Sorry, I got lost," she apologized, feigning sincerity.

"Obviously."

Antonia bit her tongue to keep it still. _Jackass_.

After a minute she began to drum her fingers on the tabletop, hoping to steal Kevin's attention away from his blasted netbook. Seeing that her plan was failing, she decided to take a more direct approach.

"Are you going to tell me more about this Joker fellow or not?"

Kevin raised a finger as if to say "one moment".

She rolled her eyes to hold back the snarky comment forming in her head. _Maybe I should just do the research myself_, she thought briefly, before remembering the quick net search she had done on her netbook. "The Joker" had retrieved 1.3 billion results. _Billion_. She took a deep, calming breath, reminding herself that although Kevin was a prick, he was the lesser of two evils. Relaxing somewhat, she was pleased to hear the sound of Kevin's netbook clicking shut.

"Okay. So what do you know about the Joker thus far?" Kevin asked.

"Umm… let's see… he was very theatrical. Always wore stage makeup and purple suits. Greasy, kind of stringy green-ish hair. Had facial scars better known as a Glasgow grin, but no one knows how he got them, even though he did like to tell his victims stories about them. Used the Jokers from decks of playing cards as his calling card. No one knows his real identity. He terrorized Gotham city for fifteen years before he disappeared," Antonia paused, "he stayed in Gotham city, right?"

Kevin nodded.

Antonia bit her lip, wracking her brain for any more knowledge of the Joker she possessed, before something finally clicked.

"Oh! You also mentioned something about a… bat-man?" She trailed off, uncomfortably aware of how ridiculous such a thing sounded.

Kevin sighed and glanced quickly to the heavens as if pleading with the good Lord for the strength to continue before he finally replied.

"No, no, no," he said, "Not _a_ bat-man but _the _Batman. AKA the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader, the Guardian of Gotham, the Silent Protector-"

Antonia held her hand up as if to say "I surrender".

"Okay, okay! I apologize! I didn't mean to rile you up!"

To her relief, Kevin seemed to calm down slightly.

"Alright then. Let's start with the basics. What do you know about Gotham?"

Antonia furrowed her brow, almost hoping that if she thought about it hard enough she would stumble upon some deeply buried well of information.

"It's a city?" She answered pathetically, silently wondering whether or not it would have been a better choice to just say nothing.

Kevin sighed again (she was really getting tired of that sound), and gave her a look that clearly said, w_ell no shit, Sherlock_.

"Yes. But during the end of the 20th century and the first half of the 21st it was best known for being of the crime capitols of the world, and from 1998 to 2015 it had the highest crime rate in the country before it slowly started to slip down in the ranks until 2046, when it dropped out of the top ten."

He hesitated, obviously deciding what to say next.

"Anyway, in 2005 this…" Kevin paused to consider his phrasing, "new guy showed up. No one knew who he was—they still don't know his real identity now. He didn't—"

"Did they know the identity of anyone in this place?" She lamented exasperatedly before seeing his reaction at being cut off.

Giving him an apologetic look, she mimed zipping her lips shut in an act of surrender.

Kevin waited a moment to make sure she didn't decide to continue her rant before continuing.

"As I was _saying_," he told her pointedly, "The Batman didn't work for the Gotham police—who were, in all reality, terribly corrupt—but he single-handedly caught an estimated 300 criminals and stopped innumerous crimes. But, because of this, he was technically a criminal himself. Everyone called him the Batman because he dressed like a bat and only came out at night, and, similarly, the Gotham police station had a floodlight to signal him shone a bat symbol into the Gotham night sky."

At this commnet, Anotnia couldn't help but interrupt.

"Wait, didn't you say he _didn't_ work for the Gotham police?"

"Technically he didn't. But, even though they were technically supposed to arrest him, he became their ally. Not officially, of course, but just about everyone knew it. He would inform them on criminal activity he saw and vice-versa. He would drop wanted criminals on their doorstep, provide them with super-advanced technology, and, because of that, the few good cops in Gotham couldn't help but respect him. Particularly Jim Gordon, a man who eventually became police commissioner and was heavily responsible for the revamping the Gotham police from being laughable to something criminals actually feared."

Antonia could feel her attention slipping.

"That's interesting and all, but what about the Joker? How does he connect into all this?"

"Impatient, aren't we?"

She scowled at him before she could think better of it.

"Alright then. Here it is: the Joker came on the scene about six months after the Batman did and they quickly became enemies, although the Joker seemed to really seem to think it was all a game. That's another reason why he was known as the Joker; everything was a joke to him. The Batman managed to put the Joker away twice, but both times he escaped."

"How?"

For once, Kevin seemed pleased to be asked a question.

"The first time he got locked away it was a set-up, and a brilliant, but terrifying, one at that. He planted a bomb in the building they were holding him in, and when it exploded the chaos allowed him plenty of time to escape. The second time they put him in an asylum, but, unfortunately, the doctor who was supposed to be helping him, Harleen Quinzel, succumbed to his charms. He corrupted her and she, in the end, helping him escape. From then on she took on the name Harley Quinn and became his sidekick. After he disappeared in 2020 she tried to continue her criminal career alone, but she was caught within a few months and given a life sentence. She died almost 50 years ago."

"If they caught the Joker twice, how could they not figure out his identity? Didn't they have, you know, DNA testing and all? Even back then?"

Kevin gave her an irritated look for interrupting once again, which didn't quite leave his face, even when he continued to speak.

"He was a crazy man, but he was a _brilliant_ man too. He left no trail. He wasn't the type of man to have friends, but he had connections. Connections whio made sure to contaminate the few DNA samples taken from him, and make the little evidence found against him disappear. But, most importantly, he had no fingerprints."

Antonia was completely at a loss.

"How is that possible? And, anyway, shouldn't that have made it easier to identify him? I mean, that's a pretty unique trait, is it not?"

"Yes, but remember what I said. He was a smart man. He wore prosthetics on his fingertips. They didn't figure this out until years after he disappeared, when they were looking through old file records. He was fingerprinted twice, and the fingerprints were totally different."

Kevin paused briefly.

"There were theories that he could have possibly been two men, but then they noticed, on closer inspection, that in the second fingerprinting, where they did all ten of his fingers, the prints had an unusual letter-like pattern that spelled out 'JOKES ON YOU' when read from the left pinky-finger to the right pinky-finger. Such patterns don't naturally occur, so the only other option, really, considering his fingers showed no signs of scarring or damage, was prosthetics—unsurprising, considering his love of theatricality and stage makeup."

He briefly paused once again, giving Antonia time to process all the information, like a professor would during a lecture.

"The generally accepted theory is that he had Adermatoglyphia, a ridiculously rare genetic disorder that results in people being born with no fingerprints whatsoever."

"That exists?" Antonia asked, in the skeptical but intrigued tone of an older child being assured of the reality Santa Claus.

Kevin chuckled, which shocked Antonia and left her terribly confused. _Since when does he chuckle?_

"I can assure you, it does."

Antonia raised an eyebrow and he only continued to chuckle, shaking his head slightly as if to say _"kids these days"_, something Antonia found humorous considering she was quite certain she was older than him.

"Can you really?" She asked, crossing her arms as if daring him to prove it.

Kevin nodded, giving her a sly half smile that just screamed "_I know something that you don't"_.

"You see," he said, placing his hands, palms up, on the table so Antonia see them very clearly, "I have it too."


	6. Chapter Six: Of Monsters and Moods

**AN: The first thing in this chapter is a rather long nightmare scene. And it is rather frightening (at least, I think it is). So if you're easily frightened, I suggest skipping the nightmare sequence (it ends when the font returns to normal). Also, the nightmare sequence has a very similar nature to my one-shot _"The Man In The Mirror"_, so while writing it I found myself occasionally slipping back into second-person present tense instead of third-person past tense. I tried to catch all my slips, but please let me know if you notice something so that I can correct it. And now, on to the story, and, as always, please read (review) and enjoy!**

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Six: Of Monsters and Moods_

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><p><em>"I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough."<br>_-M.C. Escher

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><p><em>Everything was fragmented, as if some unknown all-powerful force was flipping back and forth between two channels, unsure of which to choose, and she was caught in the middle. One was pleasant enough, she was sitting on an anonymous curb watching anonymous little girls play double-dutch. But there was something off about the rhyme...<em>

"_One, two!"_

"**I'm going to kill you!"**

**The voice was gruff and menacing, and she had no desire to see the face it belonged to. She pushed against the door with all her might, knowing somehow that it was a matter of life and death. She shook in fear. Or, perhaps, the shaking was just the result of the reverberations from the repeated impact of his fists on the door. Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently made a desperate plea—she knew not to who, but it was the only thing left for her to do. She didn't know how much more the door could take.**

**She didn't know how much more she could take.**

_The sun was shining and she was sitting once again on the pavement, out of immediate danger. While her mind quickly accepted this welcome change, her heart was not so easily swayed, and continued to beat frantically within her chest. She was suddenly ripped out of her thoughts by the playing girls' song, which suddenly seemed much louder and direct, as if it was being blasted directly into her ears. In vain she attempted covering her ears with her hands to muffle the noise._

_"Three, four!"_

**_"Open the _****fucking ****_door!"_**

**Her hands were no longer against her ears, but firmly pressed against the painfully flimsy plywood door that was all that separated her from the monster outside. The banging got louder and louder to the point where she was sure the door was about to give in.**

**But then it stopped.**

_The curb again. This time she doesn't find it nearly as calming. Actually, she doesn't find it calming at all. In an attempt to break the pattern that seemed to be forming, she tried to make a run for it. But no matter how loudly or desperately her mind screamed at her legs to move, they wouldn't budge. She was stuck. The only thing she could do was watch the jump-roping girls singing their painfully loud rhyme._

_"Five, six!"_

**The lock clicks.**

**The unmistakable sound increased her horror ten-fold, leaving her head pounding and her knees shaking violently, threatening to give out beneath her. She made a desperate attempt to keep the door shut by sheer force alone, even though she knew it was over. All she could do at this point was go down fighting, so that was what she was going to do. Jumping back from the door as it was slammed open, she faced her attacker head on. A haggard, crazed-looking middle-aged man with murder in his eyes, her fear reached so high a level that she was sure it radiated off of her.**

**But nothing about the man scared her nearly as much as the switchblade in his hand.**

_She knew she was back on the curb, but her mind was still stuck back in the room with the monster. She would have to go back, wouldn't she? Oh God, she'd have to go back and face him._

_And were the double-douching girls staring at her?_

_"Seven, eight!"_

**"You remind me of someone I hate!"**

**This time she was the one holding the knife, screaming things in a voice that wasn't hers. And she was enjoying it. She knew she should be horrified by such a truth, but the knowledge couldn't quite go deep enough to make an impact. She _knew _****she should feel remorse, but the only thing she felt was pride and a desire for vengeance.**

**"I'm not afraid of a thug like you!" the man shouted at her, trying to hide his fear with the authoritative tone of his voice.**

**She chuckled at him (he was quite hilarious in his defiance) and steps closer, holding her knife millimeters from the aging skin of his face, knowing the gesture would leave his imagination running wild with gory fantasies about how the blade would feel piercing his flesh. Men like these acted tough because they were clueless, that much she knew. He had no idea what it felt like to be stabbed, or shot. Men like him never did. But he would. He would.**

**"But you should be," she said, so close to her victim that she could see her reflection (but how was that her? That wasn't her face? Was it?) in his horrified gaze, "Oh, you should be."**

_She's back on the curb. The girls are definitely staring at her, their gazes intent and unsettling. They continue their chant in booming voices that weren't their own as they skipped, and each time the jump-rope hit the asphalt it was as loud as a thunderclap. She wasn't sure anymore that she liked whatever this was any better than the room with the monster-man._

_The other man popped into her mind. Was she the monster?_

_"Nine, ten!"_

**He's gone, but he'll be back again.**

**The thought was but a whisper in comparison to the pain that pulsated through her body and fogged up her brain. She didn't know such agony was possible. Her face was burning as if the knife was still stuck in her flesh and blood trickled into her eyes, stinging like a nettle, and ran in scarlet streams down her throat, filling her mouth with the taste of iron. From her position, lying on her side upon the filthy linoleum, she could only see his hiking boots as he casually walked away from her. Her agony slowly dulled as it was consumed by a fiery rage that started in the pit of her stomach and grew until it was no longer a part of her so much as she was a part of it.**

**She would kill him if it was the last thing she did.**

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><p>Antonia tumbled out of her bed with a strangled cry, landing tangled in her duvet with a thump on the white carpeting of her bedroom floor. Instinctively raising a hand to her face, she ran her fingers repeatedly over the unbroken pale skin of her cheek, still feeling pangs of pain from a phantom wound. The nauseating taste of blood still lingered in her mouth, and her heart still pounded ferociously in her chest, as if seeking to escape from its cage of her ribs to find refuge.<p>

Clutching the blankets with an iron grip she tried to force herself to slow her breathing. _Something's got to change_, she thought drowsily as her hyperventilating began to take its toll. _Something's got to change_.

The next day at school she made a beeline for Kevin's locker, only half aware of the horrified and amused glances her disheveled appearance was receiving. Although she was never one for makeup or long morning (or evening) beauty regimens, she normally at least looked presentable. But waking up sore from falling out of bed and spending half the night on the floor had left her in a horrible mood, and that morning she had thrown on the first items of clothing her hands had found in the closet hand left, not bothering to brush her hair or do anything about the bruise-like bags under her eyes.

Her normally average mousy-brown hair looked like a distant relative of a bird's nest, and her already pale skin had reached a color that would put snow to shame, all combining to give her a spectacular "just-got-out-of-the-morgue" look. Considering all these things, the horror of her peers was relatively justifiable, but that didn't stop Antonia from silently cursing them all.

When Kevin finally closed his locker door his eyes widened in shock at the sight of her appearance.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Antonia glared at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, as if daring him to make another comment against how she looked.

Kevin scoffed.

"You look like a reanimated corpse, only paler."

Her eyes narrowed further to slits.

"Has anyone ever told you that you should do stand-up?"

"I considered it once, but then remembered that I don't particularly like people," Kevin retorted without missing a beat.

"Hardy-har-har," Antonia deadpanned.

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

_More like fell off of it, _Antonia thought sardonically.

"I need to talk to you. Like right now," she told him, aware that she was acting like a bitch but unable to find the energy to care.

Kevin looked around nervously, feeling quite like an animal in an zoo, able to sense the numerous pairs of eyes with their gaze focused on him.

Following his line of sight, Antonia let out an irritated sigh.

"I know people are staring; I really don't give a damn. And you shouldn't either."

"But—" He gave up on his attempted argument when Antonia held up a hand to silence him.

Turning to face their audience, Antonia gave them a sweeping glare.

"Don't you lot have anything better to do?"

A few onlookers had the common decency to act ashamed at their blatant eavesdropping, but most just rolled their eyes and looked away. In all honesty, Antonia really didn't care at that point as long as they stopped staring. She turned back around to face a flabbergasted Kevin.

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish," she snapped at him. Quickly proceeding to do so, he looked at her incredulously.

Antonia sighed, finally beginning to feel guilty for using Kevin as an unsuspecting punching bag for her frazzled nerves.

"Sorry, Kevin," she apologized, running a hand through her knotted hair, "I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

He nodded but said nothing, understandably still wary of what she might do.

"I know this is probably not proper conversational etiquette—" Kevin snorted incredulously, and Antonia gave him a warning glance. He quickly regained a serious expression, and she continued, "but I'm going to get straight to the point. I need your help."

Kevin's brow furrowed in his confusion.

"With what, exactly? Haven't I already been helping you?" he asked, sounding somewhat worried about what her answer may be.

"Yes, you've been a great help. But I'm talking about something else."

Kevin looked at her expectantly, and Antonia took a deep breath before continuing.

"I want you to help me uncover the Joker's identity."


	7. Chapter Seven: Of Ruby Hart and Horror

**AN: **0 Reviews. That's how many I got for the last chapter. Where'd everybody go? The chapter before that got 6 reviews. 6 to 0 is a pretty big drop. If you're not liking the new stuff, please tell me.** At the end of the day, I write because I enjoy it, but hearing back from you guys is a huge reward and motivator.** Please take the time if you can and click the button. I really do use your feedback to better my writing.

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Seven: Of Ruby Hart and Horror_

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><p><em>"Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain."<em>  
>-Mark Twain<p>

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><p>"Excuse me?" Kevin asked.<p>

Antonia rolled her eyes.

"Must I repeat myself? We both know you heard me the first time," she told him nonchalantly, very well knowing it was the truth.

Kevin sighed and gave his locker a look of apprehension that Antonia was quickly becoming familiar with.

"Come on, Antonia, even _you_ should be able to comprehend how crazy this is!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look—I know you're not the poster girl for rationality, or tact, for that matter, but I always thought you were at least somewhat sane!" He leaned his forehead against his locker door, as if silently asking a higher power what ghastly sins he committed in a past life to deserve such a drama-filled existence.

Once again turning to her, Kevin continued in a much more subdued and quiet manner, realizing that some of the spectators Antonia had scared away were beginning to gather again.

"People have been trying to identify him for over a_ hundred_ years. And not just any people, Antonia—these guys were professionals. Government-funded ivy-league guys with years of experience and resources we can't even _dream_ of. If they haven't been able to do it in the last century, how on Earth can you think there's even the slightest possibility we could accomplish such a thing?"

"But-" Antonia interrupted, drawing out the word in an attempt to gain time to form a reasonable argument, "Erm..."

Kevin gave her a pompous smirk. She quickly began to think of snarky retorts, but her brainstorming was interrupted by a sudden bout of inspiration. Instead of glaring, like she originally intended to, her lips spread into a wide, toothy grin, leaving her looking like a cat who had just caught a canary. Kevin, meanwhile, was beginning to resemble aforementioned canary.

"What about that disease-fingerprint-whatever-it-was thing? The one that he had-and you have. Isn't that ridiculously rare?"

"Yeah..." Kevin's brow furrowed as he spoke, his expression silently adding an_ "And...?"_ to the end of his response.

"Since it's genetic, shouldn't it be possible to narrow down the possibilities through family trees that carry the genes or something like that?"

Kevin's brow only furrowed further.

"Bio was _last_ year. Do you honestly think I remember anything?"

Antonia sighed; he did have a point.

As her face fell, Kevin began to feel the first whispers of hope. Maybe she was finally coming to her senses and realizing the impossibility of what she had suggested.

A triumphant gasp quickly ended his wishful thoughts.

"That's it!" Antonia cried, a terrifying glimmer in her eyes.

"What?" Kevin asked.

He had no desire whatsoever to know the answer, but it was a necessary evil. He was well aware that if he didn't ask her to clarify she would do it anyway, but on her own time. Which, knowing her, meant that it could take hours before her statements formed something comprehensible.

"I think our team needs a new member..."

Sirens went off in Kevin's head.

"Team?" he repeated incredulously, one concerned eyebrow raised, seeking shelter in his hairline. "Since _when_ are we a team?"

Antonia rolled her eyes but didn't answer his question, and instead decided to continue by telling Kevin exactly who this new "team member" would be.

"Ruby Hart! She was top of our class in Bio, wasn't she? Doesn't she do stuff with genetics and whatnot for fun? She would certainly know, don't you think?"

Kevin blanched. He was already aware that Antonia was a little off her rocker, but never before had he thought that she had a death wish (particularly not one for him).

"No!" he choked out, unable to form a more complex argument in his horrified state.

"What?" Antonia asked, confused by his reaction. "Why not?"

"Have you ever _met_ Ruby Hart?"

Antonia's confusion persisted.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Kevin snorted, realizing how clueless Antonia was in regards to a lot of things.

"Let me just put it politely by saying that a ravenously hungry man-eating wolf would be a sweetheart compared to this girl."

"Come on, Kevin. She can't be_ that_ bad..."

"Oh _yes_ she can," he replied, slowly nodding his head to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

Antonia let out a huff.

"You're just trying to get out of this."

"I'd be lying if I said I'm in love with this idea, but I'm not lying about Ruby."

Kevin leaned in closer, his eyes nervously darting around the hallway, assuring himself that Ruby wasn't nearby.

"She's _evil_," he whispered, almost hyperventilating as he continued his search of the hallway, seemingly convinced that Ruby would somehow be able to hear his comment, even if she was nowhere to be seen.

Antonia chuckled at his antics.

"Come on, Kevin. She's a fifteen year old girl, and I'm almost certain she doesn't have a record-she's _far_ too under the radar for that to be true. How can she possibly be that terrifying?" she asked, rolling her eyes, knowing that the gossip mill prided themselves in knowing all past and present criminal activity of the entire student body, and that if Ruby Hart had ever done something requiring disciplinary action it would already be common knowledge.

Kevin continued to shake his head.

"That's just because she's never been caught."

Antonia laughed.

"Let me get this straight. Your favorite pastime is studying criminals, but you're scared shitless by a teenage girl?"

Kevin's skin was too dark for her to be able to notice a blush, particularly not a subtle one, but Antonia was almost certain it was there nonetheless.

In an attempt to soothe his wounded pride, Kevin began to mumble some pathetic retort which was quickly rendered inaudible over the warning bell. Stopping mid-sentence, he quickly turned and, thanking the heavens for this rare instance of good fortune, briskly set off under the pretense of being in a rush to get to class (he and Antonia both knew he was trying to get away from her as quickly as possible).

Antonia smirked triumphantly as she realized the fatal flaw in his plan.

"Hey genius," she called out to him, causing Kevin and a couple confused passerby to turn and face her, "your next class is that way."

She pointed behind her, in the direction opposite of the one Kevin was currently moving in, earning snickers from a handful of classmates who had happened to hear her. Once again, he turned around, this time with ears a few shades redder than the rest of his face. He kept his gaze fixed on his sneakers, blatantly avoiding eye contact with her.

As he passed, Antonia put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Ruby spends her lunch breaks in the Bio lab. We'll meet her there," she whispered to him conspiratorially, leaning in so that her lips were inches from his red ear.

Only after that did he make eye contact with her, even if it was only to let her know his displeasure through an angry glare. Antonia wasn't terribly concerned, though, as his eyes were not filled with hatred, but instead a look of begrudging surrender.

"Fine," he mumbled through gritted teeth, "but I'm only doing this so I can see how your reaction once you realize I'm right."

Antonia bit her tongue to hold back the retort that was quickly forming in her head, knowing that she shouldn't test her luck.

Satisfied that he had gotten the last word, Kevin lumbered his way down the hall to his next class, mumbling about his terrible fortune all the while.

After taking a few moments to congratulate herself on her success, Antonia reevaluated her surroundings and noticed that the once crowded hallway resembled a ghost town, with some crumpled food wrappers littering the floor in place of tumbleweeds. The happy sprouts of hope in her chest were instantaneously killed by the frost of fear as she began to jog to her next class.

She had only gotten a few yards when the final bell rang. Upon hearing it, she immediately froze, and it took all her willpower to keep in the series of colorful expletives forming in her brain. _This is fucking fantastic_, she thought, glaring up at the bell at the nearest speaker as if it was somehow to blame. With a scowl on her face she continued down the hallway, this time with a different destination.

From his place safely within the doorway of the American Studies classroom, Kevin gave Antonia a smug wink as she passed him on her walk of shame, comforted by the fact that whatever higher power existed had a good sense of justice.


	8. Chapter Eight: Of Crime Boy & Book Girl

**AN: **I'm going through a bit of a hard time right now. I plan to continue updating this regularly (so no worries there), but I could really use everyone's support. Reviews aren't going to solve my problems, but reviews do make dealing with them a little better. I really appreciate all of you who take the time to leave a review, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Eight: Of Crime Boy and Book Girl_

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><p><em>"Every time I look at you I get a fierce desire to be lonesome."<em>  
>-Oscar Levant<p>

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><p>When Antonia got to the Biology lab, Kevin was already waiting for her. Leaning against the row of lockers nearest to the door, he was deeply absorbed in whatever he was speed-reading on his netbook with such determination it appeared as though he thought his life depended on it.<p>

"What _are _you doing?" She asked him, amused at his expression of fearful concentration.

"Trying to learn self defense in five minutes," he replied automatically, not even looking up from the screen.

Antonia snorted. He really was too much sometimes.

"Oh come _on, _Kevin," she said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the Biology lab before he had a chance to protest.

Ruby Hart wasn't hard to spot—which was understandable, considering she was the only one in the room. Due to Kevin's constant complaining, Antonia was expecting a brute of a girl (although she knew her by name, Antonia had never met Ruby herself), or, in other words, a girl that looked just about the _opposite _of what the real Ruby Hart looked like.

Working with an old digital microscope in the back corner of the room, she appeared to Antonia to be a normal, if slightly nerdy, teenager. Her blonde bob was a little on the frizzy side, and although Antonia couldn't know for sure, because Ruby was sitting down, she appeared rather short.

After glancing back at Kevin suspiciously, she turned to Ruby again to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. _This is who Kevin's afraid of?_

Lost in her thoughts, it took Antonia a while to notice that Ruby was staring right back at her. Scratch that, Ruby was _glaring _at her. Sensing that Kevin was beginning to work his way towards the door, Antonia reached out behind her, grabbing him by the collar before he could make his escape. Ruby seemed amused by it all.

"Well, well, well," Ruby began, clearing her throat, "_Book _girl," she said, her voice artificially sweet, before switching her gaze over to Kevin, "and _Crime _boy."

Kevin gulped.

"What can I do for you on this _fine _afternoon?" Ruby continued, her voice displaying her complete lack of sincerity.

Antonia gave her a smile, like her mother had always taught her, and tried to make small talk.

"It is a nice day, isn't it?"

Ruby returned the smile, but on her it looked more disturbing than anything.

"Well it was… until you two stopped by," she deadpanned, returning her attention to her microscope.

Antonia waited for a few minutes to see if Ruby would acknowledge them.

She didn't.

Antonia decided a more direct approach would be necessary. Dragging Kevin along, she sat down at the table next to Ruby's before reattempting to make conversation with the girl.

"So…" Antonia started, waiting until Ruby turned to face her in irritation, "what are you doing?"

Ruby rolled her eyes and glanced up to the heavens as if to ask _"why me?" _before returning her gaze to her microscope in a way that reminded Antonia greatly of the way Kevin reacted every time she spoke to him.

"I am observing live fresh-water protists from a hay infusion." Ruby paused before continuing. "And I find their company much preferable to yours."

"That's cool," Antonia told her in an attempt to get some sort of enthusiasm from the stoic girl.

She got a scoff instead.

"Look," Ruby said coldly, finally looking away from her microscope, "I know there's a reason you came here. So save your breath and, more importantly, my brain cells, and just cut to the chase, will you?"

_Alright then_, Antonia thought, realizing that Ruby was somehow possessed even worse conversational skills than she did herself.

"Do you know how to map a genetic disorder through a family tree?" Antonia asked.

Ruby looked at her incredulously, appearing somewhat insulted.

"How _stupid _do you think I am? Of course I can make a pedigree!" she murmured unintelligibly for a bit. "A goddamn _monkey _could make a pedigree."

Implied insults aside, Ruby turned off her microscope and Antonia knew she had finally gained her attention.

"What inheritance pattern?" Ruby inquired, sounding the tiniest bit intrigued.

Antonia looked at her, completely confused, but knowing that making her lack of knowledge on the subject apparent would be like asking to get her head bitten off.

"Autosomal dominant," Kevin told Ruby, speaking up for the first time.

Ruby gave a curt nod before smirked. "Crime boy speaks then?" she rhetorically questioned no one in particular; "I guess you learn something new every day."

Kevin focused his gaze intently on the floor, as if asking it to swallow him up whole.

"What disorder, exactly?" Ruby asked, unconcerned with Kevin's discomfort.

Antonia waited, hoping Kevin would continue.

He didn't.

"Adermatoglyphia," Antonia responded, giving herself a mental pat on the back for remembering.

Ruby seemed begrudgingly impressed, and Kevin even more so. Actually, Antonia felt Kevin looked a little _too _impressed.

"Pretty rare disorder, that. It affects the SMARCAD1 gene—only a small part, and only when expressed in the skin. Other than a slight reduction in the ability to sweat, it has no other symptoms. Considered an orphan disorder—only affects somewhere around thirty or forty extended families worldwide," Ruby said to no one in particular.

"The only real question here," she continued, "Is what you two scientifically illiterate individuals want with pedigrees of the rarest genetic disorders in existence. On that note, how do you two even _know _about such a thing?"

"First of all," Kevin began, his strong, somewhat stern tone surprising Ruby, "I have the disorder—"

"Really?" Ruby interrupted, hopping up from her seat and running over to Kevin, who looked truly terrified, and grabbing one of his hands and holding his fingers close to her face for inspection. Kevin had his eyes squeezed shut and appeared, at least to Antonia, to be furiously praying.

"That's fantastic!" Ruby exclaimed before finally releasing Kevin's hand. The uncharacteristic glee on her face soon disappeared. "But it doesn't explain why you were asking about pedigrees."

This time, Antonia was the one to cut in.

"Well, it's a long story…"


	9. Chapter Nine: Of Professionals & Angles

**AN:**

_**Author: **I make nothing from this, except for the occasionally greatly-appreciated review. I own nothing, including Batman Begins—_

_**Kanye West:** Imma let you finish, but _The Dark Knight _was the best Batman film of all time!_

_**Author:** That's all very well and good, but I don't own that either._

Also, I have a **POLL **up on my profile related to _Trump_ Ace, so I'd really appreciate it if you could skedaddle on over there and check it out!

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Nine: Of Professionals and Angles_

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><p><em>"Make it work"<em>  
>-Tim Gunn<p>

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><p>Having finished her tale, Antonia watched Ruby expectantly, waiting for her reaction.<p>

After taking a few moments to process the new information she had just received, Ruby glanced from Antonia to Kevin, before returning her gaze to Antonia.

"You're crazy."

_No. No I'm not_, a menacing voice replied.

Alarmed, Antonia glanced around frantically to find the culprit, only to discover that she, Ruby, and Kevin were still the only ones in the room.

Slowly coming to realize that she was the only one who had heard the voice, she decided it would be in her best interests to not mention anything about it, as she knew that admitting she heard voices would_ not_ help her convince Ruby she wasn't crazy.

"What you said makes sense in theory, but it's such an obvious concept I would presume you aren't the first to think of such a thing. After all, aren't there experts out there who do this sort of thing for a living? If it was that simple, don't you think they would have found out already?" Ruby asked.

Kevin gave her a thankful nod, happy to see he wasn't the only one left in the world with common sense.

"But _why _didn't it work? I think we're missing something here. Even if someone tried and failed to find his identity using Adermatoglyphia, don't you think they would have talked about it somewhere?" Antonia paused, her eyes visibly widening as she was struck with inspiration.

"Kevin, when did they come to the conclusion that the Joker had the disorder?"

Kevin scratched the back of his head as he searched his brain for the requested information.

"Twenty, maybe twenty-five years ago."

Antonia nodded.

"Is there any evidence they looked further into it? Did they do any further research with the Joker in any aspect?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't believe so…" Kevin trailed off, caught up in his own thoughts.

"Maybe something else happened. Something that dissuade them from continuing their research…" Antonia paused as he figured out how to continue, "Maybe they lost their funding, or a team member died, or something more exciting came along. Yes, we might be heading towards a dead end, but what if we _aren't_?"

Kevin seemed begrudgingly interested while Ruby, unsurprisingly, just looked bored.

"That's wonderful and whatnot, but why should I help you with this? I mean, I have no idea why you're interested in this, but obviously you are, and Crime Boy is, well, Crime Boy. It doesn't take a genius to understand why he'd go for this. But what about me, huh? What do I have to gain?"

"A chance to show your genius to the world?"

Ruby snorted.

"I meant realistically."

"I was being realistic."

"The odds of me winning the lottery are better," Ruby replied, "And I don't even have a ticket."

Antonia drummed her fingers nervously against the table while Kevin split his time between glancing at the door and his feet as Ruby regarded both of them with a guarded expression. They were at an impasse, and none of them wanted to make the first move.

"Alright," Ruby muttered, returning her attention to the microscope, "I'll do it."

Antonia's head popped up in surprise.

"Really?" She asked, shocked, not sure whether or not she could believe her own ears.

"Isn't that what I said?" Ruby responded, not even bothering to turn away from her microscope to face Antonia, "But if I'm spending my time on this, we're not doing it half-ass."

Antonia nodded enthusiastically, though somewhat confused by the implications of Ruby's statement.

"Which means were going to have to hit this from a few more angles."

"Come again?" Antonia asked, her enthusiasm snuffed out by her growing confusion.

"Your current plan of action assumes he has living descendants that display the trait. It's entirely possible that none of his living relatives have the trait, or, as a matter of fact, that he has no living relatives at all. If we're seriously going to do this, we're going to need a professional."

"A professional?" Antonia repeated dumbly.

"We'll need access to archives, files, not-so-public records—things you won't find on any open-access web databases. Things only professionals can find."

Antonia opened her mouth to speak.

"But how—"

"I think this is right up Crime Boy's alley, wouldn't you agree, Novella?"

_Novella? _Antonia thought bitterly, _Certainly I have more substance than that…_

"Unfortunately, the Joker's a bit of a dead topic in research, has been for a while," Kevin said, throwing in his two cents.

Ruby bit her lip.

"When was the last major discovery about the bloke made?"

"Twenty-five years ago. As far as I know, the discovery of his Adermatoglyphia was the last of the research done on the Joker."

Ruby bit her lip.

"Head researcher still alive?"

Kevin scratched his head.

"I don't believe so."

"What about his assistants?"

A triumphant smile quickly spread on Kevin's face.

"That just might work…"

Ruby smirked, giving Antonia and Kevin the closest thing to a genuine smile they had seen from the naturally stoic girl.

"Well then, Penny Dreadful, Should-be Sherlock, I think we have our first step."


	10. Chapter Ten: Of Rejections and Pictures

**AN:** Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Either that or I'm a zombie. Enjoy!

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><p><span>Trump Ace<span>

_Chapter Ten: Of Rejections and Pictures_

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><p>"<em>There's a bigger picture.<em>"  
>-Gabe, <em>Ink<em>

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><p>"Alright," Kevin began, quickly gaining Antonia and Ruby's attention. By some unspoken agreement the table in the courtyard where Antonia and Kevin had had their first meeting had become their standard meeting spot— most likely because it was conveniently placed in a discrete corner, partially obscured by an overgrown hedge.<p>

"I've narrowed it down to nine researchers. They were all assistants to Dr. Nicholson at the time of the Adermatoglyphia discovery, and, as far as I could find, are still working. There are three of us and nine of them, so I'm thinking we should each try to contact three—"

"Hold it right there, CSI," Ruby interrupted. "Think about what you just said. You want _me _to contact people? Does that _really _seem like a good idea to you?"

"Just kidding. I'll contact five, Antonia, you can contact four, and Ruby… umm… you can start doing some research on living people with Adermatoglyphia."

Ruby nodded her approval.

"That sounds more like it."

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><p>Antonia re-read the message in disbelief. All four of the researchers she contacted had replied, and they all had rejected her carefully phrased inquiry quite rudely (at least in her opinion). With a flick of her wrist Antonia moved the last response, from a Dr. Jonathan Murphy, from her inbox to an archival folder.<p>

Flopping back onto her bed with a defeated sigh, Antonia once again thought over the four rejections she had received, all of which had much more in common than just saying "no"—too much to be purely coincidental, in her opinion. But then again, her mother had always told her that reading so much would negatively impact her reasoning ability and lead her to drawing fanciful, far-fetched conclusions.

Antonia could easily see her mother's prediction proving correct in this instance.

But what if it wasn't?

The particularly suspicious response of Dr. Katherine Keaton came to mind: _Curiosity killed the cat. Let sleeping dogs lie. _

Antonia knew she was missing something. She had found all these pieces, but she couldn't figure out how they fit together, not to mention what picture they made. Hell, she didn't even know if they all belonged to the same puzzle!

The only thing she knew for sure was that things were getting, as Alice had said, curiouser and curiouser, and the further she went down the rabbit hole the closer she came to going mad as a hatter. (And yes, she had just finished re-reading _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_).

There was only one she could think to do. Taking out her netbook, she sent Ruby and Kevin a quick memo:

_We need to meet lunch tomorrow. Same place as always. _

_ -A_

Frustrated and tired, she turned off her netbook and turned off the lights, eventually falling into a restless sleep.

In her dreams that night she met a haunted young man who told her a necklace without a thread was just beads lying scattered on the floor.

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><p>"What happened?" Kevin asked as soon as she sat down at their lunch table, not bothering with pleasantries.<p>

But then again, none of them ever did.

"You look like shit, by the way," he added after finally noticing the bags under her eyes and her hair, which seemed to be having some sort of hissy fit.

_And this is why we don't do pleasantries_, Antonia thought crabbily, giving him the evil eye.

Ruby just smirked into her sandwich, quickly swallowing before adding her own two cents.

"Reason number two-hundred and seventy-eight Kevin will _never _have a girlfriend," she deadpanned, earning a glare from Kevin and leaving them in a strange, three-way glaring standoff.

Antonia was the first to break the tense silence.

"Believe it or not, I didn't come here for a glaring contest."

"Don't leave us in suspense. Please, enlighten us," Ruby commented sarcastically.

"I've heard back from all four."

"Already?" Kevin asked, surprise audible in his voice, "It's been less than a week."

"Well, it doesn't take too long to write 'no'."

"They all said no?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No," Ruby interjected, rolling her eyes at the stupidity of Kevin's question.

Sensing that the conversation was quickly heading south, Antonia quickly changed the subject.

"What about you, Kevin?"

"The same," he muttered under his breath, so quietly that Antonia could barely hear him.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Ruby asked, more to taunt Kevin than anything else.

"They all said no," he repeated loudly, irritation evident in his voice.

"All five said no?" Antonia asked desperately, feeling a sinking sense of déjà vu.

"Some said it more colorfully, but yes, the sentiment was the same."

Antonia groaned in frustration, running her fingers through her knotted hair.

Silence descended upon the trio once again.

Eventually finishing her sandwich and having nothing better to do, Ruby spoke up first.

"So I guess I'll be the one to ask the question: What do we do now? Hmm?"

Seeing that they all looked somewhat less than their best, Kevin replied to Ruby's question with something that wasn't quite an answer.

"Why don't we all sleep on it? Maybe we'll think of something in the meantime."

Antonia couldn't help but notice Kevin's emphasis on the word "sleep".

"And if we don't?" Ruby asked, filling the role of Devil's Advocate, as always.

"We'll cross that bridge when and if we get to it," Kevin answered without missing a beat. "Does that work for everyone?"

"Fine by me," Ruby conceded before leaving without further ado or the courtesy of even looking back.

Then again, courtesy wasn't really Ruby's style.

"Is that alright, Antonia?" Kevin repeated, taken aback and begrudgingly concerned about her uncharacteristic silence.

She nodded.

"See you later, Kevin."

Kevin stood up hesitantly, unsure of whether or not to say something in reply, or even what he would say if he chose to.

So instead he chose silence, and left with a brief wave which Antonia half-heartedly returned.

"There's a bigger picture," Antonia muttered to herself once Kevin was well out of earshot, her mind filled with ideas but unable to focus on any of them.

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><p>REMINDER: There is a <strong>POLL <strong>up on my profile, the results of which will impact the future of this story. So please vote on that, because right now it's all tied up! Thanks!


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